


The Issue of John

by sherlocksavant (thecaffeinatedaspie)



Series: Let's Write Sherlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:33:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecaffeinatedaspie/pseuds/sherlocksavant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Let's Write Sherlock Challenge 1: "Challenge 1: After a nearly disastrous case, Sherlock and John share a tense taxi ride back to Baker Street. With emotions running high, they finally arrive back at 221B, and then…"</p><p> <br/> John really needs to stop putting himself in harm's way. Doesn't he know what that does to Sherlock? Sherlock doesn't think he gets it, but John understands all too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Issue of John

It had been quite awhile since a case had John crouching in a dark alley, worried that his panting breath would give them away. It had been awhile since he had to jump right in the line of fire to save Sherlock's arse, too. Luckily, they had both survived this time, the villains in this story intercepted by Lestrade and Donovan. So, then, why wasn't Sherlock relieved? Why did he look so bloody angry?

John, of course, couldn't figure out what Sherlock was feeling any more than the detective himself could. It had been a mere three months since Sherlock had returned from the dead, and though they were again living in 221B, things weren't exactly as they used to be.

Sherlock was the first to enter the flat, after their tense, silent ride back. John was right behind him, stuck with the cab fare (again). When John entered the flat, he slammed the door behind him, causing Sherlock to jump.

"Sorry," John muttered. He moved to the kitchen to make some tea, giving Sherlock a bit of space before launching into what he knew would be an uncomfortable conversation. 

A few minutes later, he set down two cups of tea, one in front of Sherlock, and one closer to himself. "What?" He asked Sherlock, as he sipped his tea. "What is it this time?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't understand," he said, setting down his cup and sprawling out across the sofa. 

John gazed at him intently. "Try me, Sherlock." He tried to soften his voice just a bit, but he wasn't certain whrther or not this had been a successful venture.

"You can't...you can't...you can't do that anymore, John."

John nearly spit out his tea. "Sorry?"

Sherlock sat up, his eyes not quite meeting John's, his expression intense. "You can't put yourself in danger like that again."

John laughed. "Oh, that's rich, coming from you."

Sherlock looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

"You pretended to be dead for three years, Sherlock! You don't exactly get to tell me what I can and cannot do." Sherlock began to protest, but John interrupted him, holding a hand up. "Yes, I know that it was all for me. Yes, I know why you did it. No, you don't have to explain it all again." He sighed and set down his cup.

Sherlock hadn't stopped looking completely unreadable, and that unnerved John. "Please, John," he said in a quiet voice, and John started at this. Sherlock was _apologizing_ ? But Sherlock never apologized, unless it was to get something he wanted. This seemed like it was more than that. John was fully attentive now.

"Why? Why shouldn't I protect you, Sherlock?"

"You really have to ask?"

"Yes. Yes, I think I do."

"I don't know if I can fully explain."

John frowned. "Try." He scooted a bit closer to the edge of his chair. "Please," he asked.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I find it difficult to describe what...what it felt like to see you..." He swallowed. "To see that gun pointed at you. To think that..."

"To think what? That I might have died?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes."

John bit his lip. "Perhaps," he said softly. "Perhaps you're beginning to understand how I felt. When you..." He started to say the word 'died', but that wasn't accurate anymore. "When you went away. Disappeared. When I watched them bury you and thought I could have done something to have stopped you. When I felt like I had failed you."

Sherlock couldn't do anything but gape at him. John, his John, had scared him tonight. He'd jumped in front of a bullet, and tonight wasn't the first time. So why did he feel so on edge? Perhaps it was because of the sacrifice that he'd made three years ago. Perhaps it was that John's life, as meaningful as it was before, was infinitely more worthy now. If he died now, what was the _point_ ? 

John couldn't know all of this. But he was looking at Sherlock, waiting for an answer, and what did Sherlock have to gain by hiding the truth? 

"You felt like this all the time, John? Like your breath is being sucked from your chest?" Sherlock's eyes were wild, and his fear at both the circumstances and his emotions was obvious. "Sherlock," John's voice softened. "Yes. Every day, yes, at least at first." He got up and sat next to Sherlock. "I didn't expect you would actually be alive. I felt guilty and sad, Sherlock. Sad for all the missed opportunities." Sherlock stared at his shoes, nodding. "I didn't know. I thought I was being kind by letting you get on with your life. By keeping you safe. It's obvious I was mistaken." John reached over and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "I know. I know, Sherlock. Bur you were wrong. That wasn't kindness. It was torture. But you didnt know. You couldn't have known. It was the one thing you either blatantly ignored or simply did not deduce." At these words, Sherlock looked up into John's eyes, and John's heart beat faster, and knowing that everything has changed. His heart increased its tempo as Sherlock's trembling hand reached up to cup his cheek and tentative lips brushed his own, moving softly at first, giving John a chance to say no, to push him away. Instead, John let out a soft moan, and ran his fingers through Sherlock's curly locks, scooting closer, and swiping his tongue across Sherlock's lip.

Finally, they broke apart, both panting for breath, both dazed and overwhelmed with not only the newness of it all, but also how easy, how familiar and simple it all was. Sherlock grinned at John, looking entirely too pleased with himself. John raised an eyebrow at him, and Sherlock shrugged. "Probably should have done that a long time ago."


End file.
